


De Profundis

by Bo_Rhap



Category: Mozart l'Opéra Rock - Mozart/Baguian & Guirao, Mozart l'Opéra Rock - Mozart/Baguian & Guirao RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 11:36:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20389060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bo_Rhap/pseuds/Bo_Rhap
Summary: Salieri wrote a letter before his death.





	De Profundis

**Author's Note:**

> This is the English version of 自深深处(the name of Chinese translation of Oscar Wilde's De Profundis). I tried to translate it into English, but English was not my mother tongue and I'm really not good at English so ... please forgive my grammar mistakes and unnative expressions.  
If there is a translation error or a more precise expression, please let me know.  
Comments and kudos are welcomed!!!  
That's what I translate it for!!!

A dark room.

The thick velvet curtains hid almost all the light from outside. Three tiny candles were lit on candelabrm, with the stuffy air inside, the candlelight held still motionlessly, as if they were dead. An old man was sitting at a secretaire. He was a rarity of longevity in his time, and could be deduced that he was quite favored by god, from the handsome face of his youth and old after still grace does not reduce. His expression, well, it's quite hard to tell, seems that he had lost all the hope, only waiting for death. From himself do not see any sentimentally attached to life, as if living has been a great burden.

Several pieces of letter paper were neatly folded in front of the old man, each with a beginning, and then another, as if unable to continue. It can be seen from the arrangement of the room that he was quite a grave and restrained man. All the furnishings, such as the scores, the paintings, were all in perfect order. But all of them were as lifeless as their owners, giving out a dying breath. The old man drew out another sheet of paper. Looking at the blank sheet, he dipped the ink with determination, and wrote down the oft-repeated beginning:

** _To Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart:_ **

As he wrote the name, the old man looked up at the candle in the room. The flame flickered imperceptibly in his pupils, giving him a long-lost glow, which he unconsciously snuffed out. As if to confirm his own heart, the old man then wrote hastily:

**_I hate you, if I have to say it. I'm afraid no one hates you more than I do. _ **

** _ Yes, I HATE YOU. _ **

** _Let's throw away the hypocritical polite comments, I' ve said that for too many times in my life. Before my death, you, my biggest enemy, deserves some honest appraisal of me._ **

** _ You are a man beyond comprehension, which made me shivered involuntarily. A incomprehensible man, mastered far more talent than I have. I envy you. _ **

** _From the moment I saw you and heard your music, I've been living with your shadow over head. Now, please listen, I know you can hear. Listen to the bereavement music around me, listen to these music which heralds my break away from this mortal life. However, do you feel that? Among the notes, it's your music which surrounds and bounds with me. It is you who rules me. Yes, you are the emperor of music and I am your subject, but you don't even bother to care. In your eyes, music is just a game you are good at. The compositions you wrote down ad asbitsium are only the exchange for compliments, roses and kisses from ladies, that's the only thing you want._ **

Realizing that these comments were getting gentler, the old man gritted his teeth and kept on writing.

** _You have no idea of your evil._ **

** _You have the character I detest most, the talent I eager most but you squandered it gracelessly. You, frivolous, boastful, saucy, insolent, even using these words to describe you is an insult to these words. You are always supercilious and impenitent. What I have achieved so far has come from cserving Kings and god carefully, composing music tirelessly. But you? How dare you overtake me _ _arbitrarily? With what? Your redundant notes? Everyone would be willing to pray devotedly everyday to get a slightest hint of your talent.Your talent deserves to be used like the last bottle of water in the desert, not like your way to splash it._ **

** _ Your presence are enough to makes me jealous. I feel jealousy of you for having a talent desired，for your talent is as abundant as the sea, for you always waste your talent without any frugality. That was the talent I begged for all day long! I had wished countlessly that I would be willing to die at once if I can compose a song as good as yours. I was doubly diligent in studying music theories in order to compose more splendid music... but lord never responded me. _ **

** _ Even if I write here, I'm afraid you can't understand how much I hate you.  _ **

** _ You make me fear how anyone could be so naive as you, so unabashedly revealing. You seem never to have grown up, always childish as a child. You exist, let me feel very despicable. But isn't there any evil in your heart? You really don't realize how your music affects people? You know that. Of course you know your slavery to me. _ **

When he wrote down the last sentence, the old man stopped writing in pain.

He covered his face evasively, avoiding eye contact with the writing in front of him, then moved his palms down and grabbed his throat feebly, as if trying to strangle himself. For the umpteenth time he reached for his knife, the cold handle almost smooth from too many strokes. The blade was a familiar chill and the old man made two gestures on his wrist and pointed it at his chest. As he had done so many times before, he threw the knife away, gasping in horror.

He wrote, trembling.

**** _ What I hate most about you is that you have made me hate myself, and that even now I cannot describe you in any more vulgar terms. Only to repeat the word again and again, to make sure that I really do hate you.  
I can convince anyone that you are my sworn enemy, but I cannot convince myself. I am your slave and subject to you.  
You don't need to do anything, your music alone will win my total obedience. I was willing to obey you, and the more willing I was, the more I hated myself. Hate me hypocrisy with hate to cover up, hate me said a lifetime against the words, before death also want to lie to myself. _

** _I beg your pardon for my choice of words just now._ **

** _I've described you and your music in very offensive terms, and I, I understand that, as anyone _ _who loves music can understand, your music is supreme, and your attitude towards music is impeccable. It pains me to admit it. Compared with you, I am ashamed to be a musician. Every note in your music is exquisite, not a redundant. It is because you never betrayed your music. You have always been willing to give your whole heart to others. You have always believed in the world._ **

** _......You mean more to me than anyone else. I still think so until now._ **

Several watermarks spread across the letter.

** _ I avoid anything to do with you and put up with all the suspicion and rumors from outside. I can't think of you. It's too painful. I thought, has passed so long, you should be a distant shadow in my heart, however, tonight I wrote about you, everything came back to me, very clear. I, you... oh, it's too complicated. Your presence makes me feel inferior, my behavior makes me ashamed. Your music, it's really unique and incomparable. I envy you. If I beat you down, I will be the best musician of my time, but at the same time, I'm fully aware that it is you who are the toppest musician that will be remembered forever. But you are leaving too soon... _ **

** _ ...  You have shaken my faith in my lord. _ **

** _Lord, my merciful lord, how can you let him leave! How can you be so cruel... He is as innocent as an angel, how can you let him die in such poverty and sickness? No one remembered him, Vienna had left him behind...Oh, what a life he lived...he was thin like a withered branch, and could not bear even a touch. I dare not to look at him...was that Mozart? Was the man on bed that Mozart, that flirtatious blond youth? That feverish man, sick and dying, even a glance could hurt him. I can't think back anymore...that night, when I lift him up, he was as light as a piece of paper. For many times I had to make sure he was there......Not even a decent grave! Dear lord, how could you have the heart to do that? Why did you create such a time, a time with no one understand Mozart, a time people despised him, contempted him, ridiculed him and disloged him? Why? Why didn't let me to take it, why not let me die with him, and let me live like a walking corpse till now?_ **

The old man, clutched his hair painfully and let out a silent roar. He hid his face and cried as if he wanted to tear himself to pieces. The flame of life at last burst upon him, and the old man trembled violently.

With a thundering sound in his head and the threat of death looming over him, he truly let go of all bondage for a moment, and he struggles to finish his letter.

_ **Let death come! I have no reluctance at all.** _

_ ** Eventually I dare to face my true self. ** _

_ ** I love you, always. ** _

_ ** Antonio Salieri  ** _


End file.
